The Crossbow Paradox
by fleurofthecourt
Summary: "So let me get this straight," Monroe said, as he methodically and thoughtfully tapped his fingers along the end table, "you could go back to one specific moment in time to change what happened?" Nick nodded. "And you picked the moment we met instead of the moment before I got hacked apart by a regal reaper with a vendetta and a machete?" Monroe asked. "What are you, an idiot?"
1. Chapter 1

Nick stared across the park pathway at his younger self. He was about to see Monroe for the first time. He knew, he just knew, that he shouldn't even let himself see Monroe woge. But he couldn't bring himself to deny that first glimpse. Those red tinged eyes and wolfish features would probably give him unexplained nightmares for the rest of his life, but never knowing even a second of Monroe seemed worse somehow.

He watched his young blue grey eyes alight with shock, and he knew he had to move right then. He may have had enough Grimm training for what felt like three lifetimes, but he was five years older, and his reflexes were decidedly slower.

He knocked the novice Grimm backwards and pinned him to the forest floor in the park. Then he growled, an undercurrent of raw emotion seeping into his voice, "Don't you dare go near that man."

He pressed his hand to the younger Nick's mouth as he drew and pointed his crossbow. He could feel a stifled, foolish cry for help against his palm, one that was likely being directed at Hank. But he also knew he had been recognized. The younger man may not have wanted to believe what he was seeing, but he definitely saw him for what he was.

"Why not?" The younger man asked as Nick moved his hand away but left the crossbow trained. The arrow was tipped with a sedative that he really hoped he wouldn't have to use.

He sighed and leaned into a sagging oak tree. He didn't know how to explain this. The guy didn't know Monroe yet. He didn't know how important he was. How deeply involved they had become. Worse yet, none of those reasons felt like good ones for him to stay away.

He settled on the best version of the truth he could come up with, "Your knowing him will be the death of him. And he's just an innocent man in all of this."

"Didn't look too much like a man to me," His younger self said. Nick rolled his eyes. He knew he was green, but he had forgotten how blind his prejudice had been right after his aunt had told him what he was. This was before he knew Bud or Rosalee or Monroe. Of course, if his plan worked, he wouldn't know any of them.

It was, perhaps, the last thing he wanted. But he had an opportunity to change their fates even if he couldn't change his. Their fates had been his fault, ultimately. They had just been trying to protect him. He felt like he'd been King Midas, offering that he wasn't that kind of Grimm as his gold but ultimately destroying everything he touched.

"He's just a clockmaker for God's sake; he wouldn't kidnap an innocent girl," he said, Monroe's words from that night five years ago echoing in the back of his head, before he realized he was giving away too much. He shouldn't tell himself anything about Monroe. Anything. If he wanted to protect Monroe, he couldn't know him. He couldn't know him at all.

"Then who would?" The younger Nick asked.

"Take this," Nick said extending a piece of lined yellow paper torn off of a legal pad. "It's everything you're going to need to know. All the information on Wesen is written down in Aunt Marie's books, but that should be all the ones you're going to need to know about that you would have asked Mon...him about. Do your own research. Keep him out of it."

"Why would I ask him for help?" he asked, giving Nick a look that suggested he had no right to be giving him advice or directions. When Nick shrugged, he asked, "Who are you?"

"I'm you, and you know it. Now get out of here," Nick said.

"What about the little girl?" he asked.

"It's on the sheet of paper, top of the list," Nick said. "Now find Hank and get out of here."

With the crossbow still trained on him, the younger Nick, with a few backwards glances, went off in search of his partner.

As he did, with a weary sigh, Nick loosened his grip on the crossbow and stared listlessly at the forest floor. With any luck, he thought bitterly, he'd just completely erased one of the most important relationships in his entire life. And now there was nothing left for him to do but wait...wait for time to do its work and just dissolve him, taking him apart piece by piece.

He slid down the oak tree and rested against it before turning towards Monroe's house -his house, really- for one last look. He let memories of kisses tasting of coffee and wine and too late dinners blur with those of Monroe fidgeting with cogs and springs, Monroe running a bow across his cello, Monroe folding sweaters and jeans at the foot of their bed. Just of Monroe.

He closed his eyes and remembered that last night, that perfect ordinary night before it had all gone wrong. He supposed that without the events of the day following, that particular night wouldn't have measured as anything special, but as it was, it was a memory, that, if he were not trying to prevent it all, would have been a permanent, close-to-his-heart etch of what had been.

They had all been at the books at the kitchen table for hours before Hank had called it a night, for him and Nick, since they both needed to be at the precinct early. So Nick had lay awake just listening to Monroe and Rosalee chatting fervently about the jazz piece Monroe was trying to teach himself.

Then, when he finally made it upstairs, Monroe, thinking Nick was already asleep, leaned down to kiss him on the cheek. Nick caught his lips before smirking heartily as Monroe fell back in surprise, trying his best to act like he was exasperated even though Nick knew better.

Some time later, they had fallen asleep with Nick drowsily mumbling an affirmative to Monroe's enthusiastic bribes of spinach-less pancakes if he agreed to help weed the front yard that weekend.

When he opened his eyes again, he caught sight of the few withering weeds growing around the front porch, and faced anew with the reality of a hot, miserable summer afternoon that would never come, the tears that had been welling up began to fall freely.

What did it matter, anyway, he wondered; it wasn't as though there were anyone around to see him. Right?

Although he hadn't really been focusing, it had seemed that since his younger self had disappeared, aside from the scurrying of small animals around the park and the occasional car whirring down the street, there had hardly been any sound.

But now he could hear leaves crinkling under the weight of something, or more likely, he realized, someone, too large to be a squirrel. He whirled around just in time to see Monroe edging towards him cautiously.

"Hey, uh, dude, are you okay?" Monroe asked. "I was just going to come thank you for, you know, stopping your twin or whatever from whatever he was about to do; I think he had some serious misconceptions about the kind of guy I am. But, well, you seem like you're kind of in a dark place so maybe now's not the best time. But...uh...well... did you need help or something? Because I owe you."

Monroe owed him? Nick almost laughed through his tears. Then without really thinking through the consequences of doing so, he lifted the crossbow back up and aimed at Monroe's chest, "Don't come any closer!"

Monroe woged slightly in surprise, and Nick grimaced, knowing he'd been recognized for what he was. Well, he figured, at least they were still getting off slightly on the wrong foot because he would have hated to have changed that.

Instead of doing the intelligent thing and backing away, Monroe, letting curiosity get the best of him, moved closer and leaned into Nick's personal space, "Another Grimm? I'll be damned. I've heard stories about you guys all my life, but I never thought I'd see one up close, let alone two in one day. What do you know! ... hey, was that other guy really your twin? I was just spitballing..."

Nick was now completely overwhelmed with how painfully he missed Monroe. And with him trying to ramble his way through the odd situation, well, Nick could have kissed him for just being there and just being himself. And, apparently, he couldn't entirely contain the impulse. Still half sobbing, figuring his plan had already gone hopelessly askew, he let the crossbow fall to the ground as he wrapped his arms around a now thoroughly bewildered Monroe.

"You don't owe me a damn thing," Nick said. Then as he gripped Monroe, who was twisting against him anxiously, more tightly, he whispered softly, almost inaudibly, "I miss you so much...I love you."

Monroe tensed and pushed Nick back against the tree, "Uh, not to put a damper on your already damp mood or anything, but, well, I just met you. So this is kind of awkward. I mean, I don't even know your name."

"And hopefully you never will," Nick said, brushing fresh tears from his cheek, and wincing slightly as his ankle twisted into the tip of his abandoned arrow. "I just wanted you to know."

Then, as the leaves started to go a little hazy, Nick just assumed his time was up, and he was going back to whatever miserable existence, or more likely, the lack thereof, he'd just created for himself.

Therefore he was more than a little surprised, and confused, when he woke up two hours later, with a splitting headache, on Monroe's couch with his ankle propped up and bandaged.

He groaned, turning into the couch, as he rubbed at his temple. He shouldn't still be there. He couldn't still be there. He'd stopped his past self from meeting Monroe, hadn't he? So mission accomplished, game over. This was really not going according to plan.

Thinking that the more he involved himself with Monroe's past, the worse he was going to make things, he tried to get up for take two of getting out of Monroe's life and, more pressingly, his house.

Everything spun.

Then a hand was on his shoulder, pressing him back into the couch, "Yeah, you aren't getting anywhere fast. Whatever you had on this thing really did a number on you."

Monroe held the arrow up under his nose. Nick could have kicked himself; he'd completely forgotten about the sedative.

"Why couldn't you just leave me out there?" Nick asked piteously. Of course, he knew the answer only too well - Monroe was every bit as much of an idiot as he was. But he let the question stand.

"And, what, leave you for the wolves?" Monroe asked as he handed him a glass of water and pain relievers.

Nick raised his eyes as he took them.

"Okay, well, metaphorically speaking," Monroe said."Look, this neighborhood isn't quite as safe as it seems, you were not exactly conscious, and like I said, I owe you."

"Well, consider yourself owed up," Nick said. "I'll just let myself out. I know where the door is."

"Yeah...well, you did say you live here. You were kind of half awake and sort of dazedly going on about me and time travel and reapers and some woman named Rosalee," Monroe continued, gesturing wildly as he paced across the floor before falling into an armchair and giving Nick a long, expectant look. "Man, who in the hell are you?"

"Uh..." Nick sputtered. He didn't really know what to say because Monroe believing the truth seemed about as likely as Monroe believing whatever flimsy lie he came up with. When it came right down to it, he wasn't fantastic at spinning stories, and Nick trusted that Monroe could and would read him like a book on this. After all, time really hadn't helped him hone his facial expressions.

Therefore, he, somewhat reluctantly, settled on the truth.

"So let me get this straight," Monroe said, some twenty minutes later, as he methodically and thoughtfully tapped his fingers along the end table, "you could go back to one specific moment in time to change what happened?"

Nick nodded.

"And you picked the moment we met instead of the moment before I got hacked apart by a regal reaper with a vendetta and a machete?" Monroe asked. "What are you, an idiot?"

"I was just trying to protect you," Nick said, defensively. "I've let you get hurt way too many times."

"Yeah, you're definitely an idiot," Monroe said. "You do realize you're a Grimm, and I'm a Blutbad, right? We're not all that known for protecting each other."

"That has been pointed out a few times," Nick conceded.

"Okay. So if I were to believe you, which I'm not saying I do," Monroe said, looking like he'd just opened Pandora's box, but he kind of thought it was in a candy shop, "what would you suggest we do?"

"We are not doing anything," Nick said. "The whole point of this was to stop you from ever meeting me. So, as soon as I can stand and see straight, I'm getting out of here. And you can just pretend none of this ever happened."

"Uh, no. I really can't. And, well, that seems kind of selfish of you. I mean, don't I get a say in this? In whether or not I get to meet my future, well, whatever you are to me. Roommate? Well, probably more than that. Boyfriend? Partner?" Monroe speculated.

"Husband," Nick said with a soft smile as a blush crept up his cheek. He lifted his hand to show Monroe his wedding band. Then, deciding it couldn't hurt, he wriggled it off to show him the engraving M & N, 2015. "We had to call five times to make sure these didn't say M & M."

"Oh my god," Monroe said, giving Nick a look that bordered between awe and horror as he slipped his ring back on. After being rendered speechless for about five whole minutes, he said,"Well, for the record, I think you're kind of shoddy at the whole marriage gig."

"For doing this?" Nick asked as Monroe nodded emphatically. Then he pressed, unconvinced, "For wanting to prevent your death?"

"No, for wanting to prevent my life," Monroe countered. "Look, I don't really know you, so maybe I'm wrong, but from what you've said, well, it seems like we're happy together, in the future, so why would you want to take that away from me?"

Nick didn't say anything, mostly because, loathe as he'd be to admit it, he knew then that Monroe was right - this had been an incredibly foolish plan. He'd just been too wrapped up in his own guilt to consider what Monroe might have wanted, and it almost definitely wasn't this. After all, Nick realized, meeting him had led to at least half of the things around which Monroe's life revolved - the spice shop, Rosalee, him.

"Never thought about it like that, huh?" Monroe asked.

"No, I really hadn't. I was just so tired of everyone being hurt because of me and who I am, and you ...you were just about the last thing I could take," Nick said, sitting up and rubbing at his forehead, trying not to think about the way he'd found Monroe, knowing full well his resolve would weaken if he did. Then after taking a few long, thoughtful sips of his water, he asked sullenly, "How am I going to fix this?"

"Don't look at me," Monroe said throwing his hands up. "I'm just the guy who's life you possibly ruined."

"I did technically just save your life too. So no need to be overdramatic or anything," Nick said as he rolled his eyes, mostly because he was hoping that that wasn't exactly what he'd just done. "Now, did you still want to help?"

Nick was really hoping he would because he did not currently have the means or the energy to find a '78 Bordeaux.

"Help prevent you from preventing me from meeting you? Well that's a mouthful," Monroe said. "But, yeah. I think I'd like to meet my future husband properly the first time around. Though I have to ask, what way was that exactly?"

"Well, I was about to pin you against your wall and accuse you of kidnapping a little girl," Nick said sheepishly. "Then later tonight, I would have come back and demanded you give me information about Blutbaden, because I didn't really know anything about Wesen."

"And this leads to us being together?" Monroe asked, looking skeptical. "How?"

"Mostly it boils down to some really persistent pestering on my part," Nick said. "And you being a somewhat reluctant pushover."

Monroe glowered at him. Clearly, the fact that he'd just offered to help a guy who claimed to be his time traveling husband from the future had been completely lost on him.

Knowing he was right, Nick simply shook his head. Then, in an attempt to get up again, he swung his legs over the side of the couch. It seemed, fortunately, that the effects of the sedative had mostly worn off, but the moment he tried putting weight on his ankle, pain shot through it.

He pursed his lips tightly as Monroe wrapped his arm around him shoulder, letting him limp against his side, "Okay. Well, I did say I'd help. This'll be a start. Now where are we going?"

"My aunt's trailer," Nick said, cringing inwardly when he realized it was still in the driveway of his old house. "Though we might run into a few obstacles. For starters, my truck keys are kind of still in the future so we'll have to take the Volkswagen."


	2. Chapter 2

Hank smiled weakly down at Rosalee. She was slowly coming to after spending far more time than he was comfortable with sound asleep on a hospital bed - recovering, from, as far as he could tell, just generally having been really roughed up. However, when he and Nick had finally made it to the hospital late Friday night, the doctors had been remarkably ambiguous about the condition both she and Bud were in.

Nick hadn't taken that particularly well - not that Nick had taken any of the events of Friday particularly well. Hank sighed. Nick's mysterious disappearance wasn't even at the top of the list of the bad news he had for Rosalee. He didn't even know how to start. Hell, he was barely over any of it himself. It had only been two days. Two days since... he almost couldn't bring himself to think it, let alone say. He didn't know how he was going to tell her.

But Rosalee wouldn't put up with any roundabout nonsense so he knew was just going to have to spit it out.

He wasn't surprised when she cautiously pulled herself up against the hospital headboard, relaxed against it, and then firmly locked her eyes with his, "How long have I been out?"

"Two days, give or take," Hank said, frowning.

Immediately afterwards, her eyes flaring with a renewed intensity, she asked,"Where's Monroe? Tell me right now."

Of course that was her first question. Hank drew in a deep breath.

"Rosalee, Monroe's..." Hank started, leaning over and gripping the bedrail. He couldn't say it. He had to, but he couldn't - saying it made it real, "He's...he's dead."

"I need to know where his body is, then," Rosalee said. Her expression remained calm, her tone detached. Hank stared at her, taken aback. For someone who had dated the man for nearly two years and been friends with him for five, she didn't sound particularly perturbed or surprised.

When Hank continued to stare, she pressed, with a calm urgency, "Tell. Me. Now."

"In the morgue, I think...but, Rosalee, what difference does that make?" Hank said. Truth be told, he'd been too worried about getting Nick the hell away from the crime scene to worry about anything like that. Not that it mattered - he clearly hadn't gotten Nick out of there anywhere near fast enough. "It's not like we know how to resurrect the dead... do we?"

Rosalee shook her head, "Believe me, it makes a difference. Help me off the bed, and then let's go."

"To the morgue?" Hank asked, raising his eyes. Unless he really had missed the Wesen seminar on the reanimation of dead tissue, he really didn't see how that would be beneficial for anyone.

"Yes, don't argue," Rosalee said. "I'll explain on the way."

"I'm not. Though I probably should be," Hank said. Then, with a sharp glance at the hospital bed, he asked, "Are you sure you're up for this?"

"It doesn't matter. We have to do this, and we have to do it now," Rosalee said, ripping an IV out of her arm before pulling herself over the side of the bed. "But let's find out."

Fifteen minutes and several circuitous corridors later found the two of them pausing just outside a room full of dead bodies. This was, unfortunately, kind of run of the mill for Hank, but he was filled with a more than typical dose of apprehension. He didn't usually know anybody.

He did not envy the task ahead of Rosalee one iota.

"I can do this alone," Rosalee said, as she scanned Hank's face. "I don't want to make this harder on you. If this doesn't..."

"Harder on me?" Hank asked, incredulous. "Not that I don't love Monroe, but you and Nick, you two are the ones this is going to kill. Not me."

He didn't bother to mention that Nick wasn't exactly around to be killed, emotionally or otherwise. Rosalee hadn't asked, so he hadn't explained. There hadn't really been time anyway.

"I'm coming with you," Hank said. Rosalee nodded, and they pushed the swinging doors in together.

Once they found the right compartment, Hank braced himself as Rosalee pulled out the cold metal drawer. He wasn't really prepared to see Monroe the way he'd last seen him. He'd tried to tell Rosalee how bad it had been. How he wasn't even sure that the precautions that she and Monroe had apparently taken would even matter.

So, when the drawer slid forward with a stubborn click, he couldn't quite believe what he was seeing. Although he was deathly pale and perfectly still, there was not a scratch on Monroe's skin. Furthermore, he was whole and completely in tact. No severed limbs or any other lingering signs of the violent scuffle Hank could have sworn he'd witnessed remained.

"Hank...?" Rosalee asked, squeezing his shoulder lightly as she leaned over Monroe.

"You don't understand..." Hank said. "I'm telling you, he was basically torn limb from limb. It wasn't pretty. This doesn't add up."

Rosalee wasn't listening. She had her fingers curled under Monroe's cold, lifeless palms and was pressing her lips down on his, trying to undo the work of their fortified death feint potion.

Giving up on explaining how impossible the current circumstances were, Hank watched Rosalee trying to resuscitate their seemingly deceased friend. After several long moments, as hope bubbled and percolated in his chest, she drew back and took a long breath.

"It's not working, is it?" Hank asked, deflated; he should have known better. Rosalee shook her head, looking dazed. He had the feeling that the adrenaline that had got her this far was starting to wear off, and her injuries were taking their toll.

She took a wobbly step back, and Hank just barely caught her, "I'm not really sure this was a good idea. I think I should take you back to your room."

Rosalee nodded weakly, her eyes welling with tears as reality began to set in. Hank pulled her in close, thinking that if she started crying, he probably wouldn't be that far behind, "It almost felt like it was working. Hank...what are we going to do without him?"

In the absence of Hank's reply, the morgue drawer rattled.

Hank and Rosalee looked back at each other cautiously. They really didn't want to get their hopes up a second time.

Then, fortunately, a voice that could only be Monroe's said,"You know, I've never had nightmares about waking up in a morgue, but I really think I'm going to start. It's kind of horrifying. Better than the alternative, though, I guess...and, uh, not to ruin you guys' moment or anything but can you please get me off of here?"

Hank and Rosalee both breathed out in relief. Then they sprung into action, pulling Monroe to the floor.

Then, with Rosalee's arms still firmly wrapped around him, Monroe asked the question that Hank had been dreading since Rosalee woke up, "Where's Nick?"

"That's a good question," Rosalee said, turning to Hank.

"You know what, you guys have to see this for yourselves," Hank said. "Nick does some reckless things, but this is bad even for him.

Then he gave Monroe a pointed look, "He'd probably tell you he was doing it for you, too."

"Don't tell me he's doing something as ill thought out as dropping in on my parents again," Monroe said, rubbing his hand over his forehead. "I still don't know how he didn't think being both a man and Grimm wouldn't automatically disqualify him as potential Blutbaden spouse material. But he just had to do something stupidly traditional. I mean, I did ask his mom, but she did kind of have me at gunpoint at the time..."

"Monroe, this is not the time. Focus," Rosalee said. "Until about two minutes ago, all of us, Nick included, thought you were dead."

"He did?" Monroe asked, looking perplexed. "Well, I guess that explains why I'm in the morgue..."

As Hank nodded, Rosalee asked, "Hank, he's not trying to take out all of the other reapers out on his own, is he?"

"It's worse than that. That we'd have a better chance of stopping. But from what I gather, the main person he's trying to take out is himself," Hank said. Then when Monroe and Rosalee shot him equal looks of horror, he held his hand up, "It's not what you're thinking, not exactly. There was a book about a potion that could be used to alter time, and a list of the Wesen he'd encountered when he'd first found out he was Grimm."

"So the Wesen I told him about," Monroe said measuredly. Then, after adding up the evidence and drawing the conclusion that Nick was absolutely out of his mind, "Oh good God. He wouldn't."

They all shook their heads because they all knew he would.

But just to confirm Nick's insanity, Hank added, "The top of the list had the date that Nick met Monroe written on it."

Then he added with a long suffering sigh, "Don't even ask why I know that."

"So he went back in time?" Rosalee asked slowly. "To do what, exactly?"

"My educated guess is that it has something to do with you," Hank said, dramatically sweeping his hand past Monroe, which was a little bit of relief. He'd spent the last couple of minutes trying not to all out stare at him. The guy had been dead for nearly three days. He'd started planning the man's funeral for god's sake. Try as he might, he couldn't snap right back from that. "Beyond that, your guess is as good as mine. I have no idea why he'd go all the way back to when you met to prevent an ambush five years later."

"Well, whatever he's doing seems likely to be a harbinger of totally unnecessary trouble," Monroe said, pinching his eyes closed. Hank had the feeling Monroe suspected what Nick had done but rather wished he hadn't. "So we should probably hit the books, figure out if we can bring him back or if we need to get to him."

Then with an irritated wave of his hands, he muttered, "I wish I were more surprised that he thought limping up to his past self with a legal pad was a good idea."

"I do too," Hank said. Then his mind went back over what Monroe had said, "What do you mean by limping?"

"I mean limping," Monroe said, narrowing his eyes. "The last I saw of Nick, he'd done something gnarly to his ankle. It was all swollen and kind of green. I don't know how anything could get infected that fast, but, you know, leave it to Nick."

"That's it. What is it with you two and totally unexplained injuries?" Hank asked wearily because he'd just about had it with their nonsense. "First, Rosalee and I come down here, and despite the fact that I watched you get cut to bits, you're completely unscathed. Now you're telling me that Nick, who left that barn totally physically intact was hurt."

Rosalee rested her hand on Hank's shoulder apologetically as she gazed at Monroe, "I'm not sure I'm following this any more than Hank."

"The trugbild waffe," Monroe said with enough gravitas that Hank just knew it was some damned Wesen thing they would know everything about, while he remained totally in the dark.

Rosalee's look of complete shock and total understanding only underscored his suspicions.

"Which is?" Hank asked, resisting the urge to roll his eyes.

"Well, it looks kind of like a machete, but, well, it's not," Monroe said. "It can't actually hurt anyone."

"Then why would anyone use it?" Hank asked.

"Trugbild waffe translates roughly to Knife of Illusion ," Rosalee said. "So although it doesn't harm the person it's being used on, it looks like they're being seriously injured."

"Or, you know, being torn limb from limb, in my case," Monroe said. "But what really doesn't add up is that Nick was the one "attacking" me...since there was another reaper not two feet away. I really don't know how he got his hands on the trugbild waffe...or how, when, or why he had time to change clothes...but it was definitely Nick."

"That's impossible," Hank said, raising his eyes. He was starting to think that as long as he knew Nick and Monroe, he should simply retire that phrase from his vocabulary. "I like to think I would have noticed if my partner was butchering his husband. Not to mention that after we, that is Nick and I both, saw you get torn apart, I could barely drag Nick away from your body. If he had been attacking you, and he knew the attack wasn't real, I think he would have been less worried about leaving you behind."

"Yeah, none of this makes any sense," Monroe said. Then as the cogs in his mind started spinning, he offered another suggestion that Hank would have previously considered impossible, "...unless he was in two places in once."

"Which time travel could make possible," Rosalee offered. "At least temporarily. Not that it would explain where Nick is now..."

Hank mused on that. The other night, while Monroe had been definitively losing his own battle, he and Nick had been taking on their own set of reapers. Consequently, Nick being the man "fighting" Monroe had been impossible.

However, ignoring his previous logic about the situation, despite the darkness of his vantage point in the barn, Hank could see an eerie resemblance between Nick and that man. The man had been roughly Nick's build and had been wearing a hoodie that, now that he really thought about it, closely resembled one that Nick had owned several years prior.

"Well, I think it's safe to say the trailer is about due for a visit," Monroe said.

"I think you're right," Hank agreed readily. Then he gave Rosalee a cursory once-over, unsure if she really ought to come with them, "Think you're up for it, Rosalee?"

"Well, I'm still standing," Rosalee said. She looked worn out and run down just from the brief time since they'd left her room, but her jaw was set in determination. Clearly, finding Nick was currently a higher priority than her own well-being. Hank wasn't sure he or Monroe agreed with her, but despite sharing an uneasy look with each other, neither of them argued with her.


	3. Chapter 3

Blood streamed across his eyes, blurring his vision. It wasn't his own, thank god, but that of the reaper that he'd just vanquished.

He heard Monroe calling his name faintly and from some distance. He squinted and blinked as he tried to wipe the blood away from his eyes so he could see better and farther.

The sound of weapons continuing to clink against one another throughout the barn nearly drowned him out, or, maybe, he wasn't shouting loud enough for Nick to really hear him to begin with. He couldn't tell.

He watched Hank land one last blow of his own against the reaper that had, initially, blindsided him. It seemed to cost him a grazed leg. Nothing that wouldn't heal easily enough, Nick thought.

The battle, if one could call it that, seemed to be going much better than they could have hoped, considering that none of them had been expecting it.

Well, that wasn't true. Not really.

They were in the middle of an unending war, in which these people that Nick cared about deeply were perpetually being targeted for their mere association with him.

Consequently, they had been expecting the reapers to come out of the woodwork they'd been hiding in, and soon. They just hadn't been expecting it to be then or there. Or the woodwork to have become quite so literal. Though, retrospectively, Nick was kicking himself.

Although he'd only been in that barn a handful of times, not banking on, or at least preparing for, an attack when all of his friends were going to be in the same place at the same time seemed foolish, at best, and utterly irresponsible, at worst.

Next time anyone, even if it was Bud's sweet and unshakeable wife, volunteered to host an anniversary party for him and Monroe, he would just have to turn them down.

If there even was a next time.

He knew he was fooling himself if he based how this was going solely on his and Hank's success. He just didn't want to consider any of the alternatives.

He pricked his ears, trying to separate Monroe's voice from all of the other sounds in the barn.

"Nick, I've got this, man. Don't worry about me," Monroe said. Nick, while he had managed to pinpoint his voice to the loft, was puzzled when he realized Monroe really wasn't shouting. He wasn't anywhere near him, yet he was being directly addressed.

Although Nick wasn't sure whether he should be more confused or worried, instinct told him that either way he needed to get to where Monroe was as quickly as he could.

He shouted for Hank to follow him.

He reached the ladder for the loft, and if he'd doubted his hearing before, he didn't now. Two of the buttons from Monroe's flannel shirt rested at the ladder's foot - a bread crumb trail that he was as desperate to follow as he wasn't. Contrary to Monroe's instruction, he was worried.

His hands, still slick with blood, had a tenuous grip on the ladder's thin rails. He tried to focus his energy solely on them. He couldn't afford to slip. Monroe's voice, which had been a comforting background presence, had stopped, and he needed to know why.

The moment he discovered why, as he neared but hadn't yet reached the ladder's top, he wished fervently that he hadn't.

The dark cloth of the reaper's hoodie, a clothing choice that Nick's higher faculties weren't much interested in questioning, stood in stark contrast to the brilliant silver of a machete.

The machete was raised above Monroe, who was lying on the floor, nearly unconscious. He blinked blearily before saying weakly, almost pleadingly, "Nick, man, really, I think Rosalee and I got this."

The reaper lowered the machete towards Monroe hesitantly, at an angle that risked little injury. Then he let it hang above Monroe, simply suspended in animation.

If Nick didn't know better, he would have thought the reaper didn't want to be doing this.

However, the appearance of another reaper, edging its way back from the loft's window, evidently forced his hand.

"The Grimm's mate?" The second reaper asked, willingly and deliberately pressing his scythe into Monroe's shoulder. Nick tried to lunge himself across the floor, but he slipped and quite nearly kicked Hank off the ladder.

The reaper continued, "This will be most rewarding. We cannot allow ourselves to be fooled like others have been before. We must be sure he is dead. If you are not up to the task, I will do it myself."

The first reaper, without turning around, nodded, and just as Nick managed to pull himself up off the loft's hay littered floor, the machete met with Monroe's flesh, and it met with it repeatedly.

The periphery of Nick's vision took on a distinctly crimson quality.

The reaper, however, solidly remained his focal point. Nick darted across the floor towards him, angrily kicking at any and all bales of hay that impeded his path.

"Get away from him," Nick shouted, internally cringing at the tactical disadvantage that put him at. Before, he had had the element of surprise available to him. That was no longer an option. Ignoring the part of his mind that was telling him he'd just lost his chance, he wanted to tell Monroe his family really should have invested in a smaller barn. "Get away from him now."

To Nick's utter surprise, the reaper readily stepped away from Monroe. Then, without a word, he pushed the other reaper out the loft window.

Nick gaped at the air. He had to have imagined that. Why would a reaper knock another reaper out a window? It was really the least of his concerns at the moment, but he still found it unfathomable. Once his surprised dwindled, Nick rounded on the reaper.

Clearly, the reaper realized he was in for it with Nick and, possibly, the reapers' headquarters, though, because he then started to run, rather awkwardly, for the barn's back door.

Nick noted mentally that he'd soon be out for the blood of a man of roughly his own build with an injured left leg.

Although he imagined that there were a few bales of hay that were more than up to the task of slowing the guy down, he shouted for Hank to pursue him.

Then he steeled himself to check on Monroe.

As he approached, he knew there was little hope that anything could be done. Monroe's eyes were closed. All of his limbs were severed and separated. Blood oozed from everywhere.

And worst of all, somehow, his lips had frozen in a crooked smile. Nick couldn't bear to look at it.

He leaned over Monroe, before gathering him, or rather, what was left of him, into his arms and letting their foreheads touch. He wanted to sob uncontrollably, but the part of his mind that controlled his tear ducts had turned off. It refused to process that Monroe was lying in pieces strewn through hay.

It didn't make any sense.

He sat there, empty and conquered, wondering, dazedly, why there was so much blood on Monroe, but no new blood on him.

The drying blood of the reaper caked on his hands. The distant sound of sirens blaring drifted into his radar before fading into the background. He didn't pay them any mind.

Then he heard voices - echoes of an illogical conversation.

They filled his meaningless void as though he were half awake and half dreaming. It couldn't be real, so it wasn't. He simply let them flow over him.

"You can't just change what happened like that. You're messing with all kinds of temporal laws, man," a voice that sounded like Monroe's said.

He clutched tighter at the broken man in his arms. The man remained broken.

"No, this is what always happened. I didn't realize it before," a voice that sounded like his own said.

"How can you be so sure?" Not-Monroe asked skeptically.

"I know what happened," Not-Nick said stiffly.

"You sure? I think you're bordering on delirious," Not-Monroe said, concern etched in his voice. "You're definitely still feverish. And I'm thinking that none of this is going to matter if you don't get out of here."

"I'm not leaving," The real Nick whispered into Monroe's sweat and blood mussed curls. "I'm not leaving you here."

"God, I'm not talking to you," Not-Monroe said sounding flustered and anxious. "Are you, well, I mean, is he, going to be okay?"

"What do you think?" Not-Nick asked.

"I'm never going to be okay again," Nick whispered, knowing that somehow his illogical shadow understood.

A hand coiled slowly around his shoulder. Hank's voice was gentle but firm, "I'm sorry, Nick, but we have to leave. We have to leave him here. The EMTs have to look the two of us over too. Come on."

_Earlier or later, depending on the way you look at it. No one said time was linear._

Mostly ignoring Monroe's excited rambling about the historical, museum like qualities of the contents of the trailer, Nick started digging through his books for the passage on time travel.

"Dude, I can't believe you're trusting me in here with all this stuff," Monroe said. "I mean, I guess, we're married, why wouldn't you? But I still can't believe it."

"Hey, I know this is like a treasure trove for you, but keep it down," Nick said, putting his fingers to his lips. "Shh! We can't let my past self or my ex-girlfriend know we're here. If they find us, I don't really think we're going to be able to explain this."

"So sometimes you do think your plans through?" Monroe said with an edge of sarcasm, as he ran his finger down the spines of a two volume set outlining Grimms encounters with Hexenbiests. "That's comforting."

"Meeting with my past self once was enough of a headache. I don't want to repeat the experience if I don't have to," Nick said.

Of course, because this was the luck he had, Nick's past self chose this time to wander onto the porch muttering angrily about the yard's raccoon infestation.

"Well, you seem pretty upset about the raccoons," Monroe whispered, peering through the curtain. "Maybe you or he... I'm not really sure what pronoun applies here, will keep trying to figure out what to do about them."

Though he had a sinking feeling that it wouldn't be, Nick hoped that was the case, "That could occupy me for years. Those raccoons are hopeless. Juliette's fiance and I tried to get rid of them again about a month ago."

Monroe raised his eyes slightly.

"A month ago, in the future," Nick said. "She's engaged to a Fuchsbau. Distant relative of Rosalee's."

"And Rosalee's the woman I was dating before I was dating you?" Monroe asked as he opened the weapon cabinet.

Nick waited until he was done with his whispered exclamations of wonder before saying, "Yeah. Don't think you two had a huge falling out or anything. She's still a really good friend of ours."

"Well, you did say she came to our anniversary-attack party. Be a bit odd if she wasn't," Monroe said. Then, after nearly knocking over a set of vials, he turned towards Nick with a serious look in his eye, "Do you really think you should be telling me all of this? Because, well, you know, it's a little like you're unfogging my crystal ball. And it's a ball I don't think you're really supposed to be giving me..."

Monroe trailed off and glanced awkwardly around the trailer.

"Well, if we stop me from coming back, what difference is it going to make? You'll never know I was here, will you?" Nick asked.

"Yeah, I guess not," Monroe said, sounding unconvinced. Then he returned to enthusiastically perusing the trailer's contents until Nick spoke up again some fifteen minutes later.

"I found it," Nick said, tapping his finger against the faded print of his book, wishing that what he was about to tell Monroe they were going to do was going to sound less absurd than he knew it would. He'd only believed it the first time because he was desperate. "It's not very complicated, compared to most things. All we really have to do is read this passage aloud as one of us shoots the crossbow and think of the moment in time we want to go to."

Monroe, unphased, leaned over his shoulder, skimming the book. "But it says you aren't supposed to do this more than once. But you knew that, didn't you?." Monroe sighed. "Well, it looks like they weren't really sure what would happen to you if you did but they'd wager nothing good. Because, you know, playing with magic and time travel is about as dangerous as playing with fire. So that's ...promising."

He paused a moment, ran his hand through his hair then asked, "And if we're going to the future, how exactly am I going to picture it? I haven't, you know, been there."

"I think if I imagine it and you hold on to me, it'll work," Nick said. "Besides, only one of us can shoot the crossbow anyway."

"Well, you can barely stand right now, so I think I'll do that," Monroe said pulling it off of Nick's lap. "Should we go outside or something? I know your doppelganger's out there, but inside the trailer doesn't seem like the best place to shoot arrows."

"No, just aim at the ceiling. It won't hurt it," Nick said.

As he did, the trailer door shook slightly. Nick groaned. Of course.

"You told me to stay away from him and then you brought him here?" The younger Nick asked as he pushed the door in and quickly took in his surroundings.

"Monroe string the bow," Nick said, completely ignoring him. "I'm going to start reading."

"Start explaining," The younger Nick said, grabbing a machete.

Nick glanced at it briefly before clearing his throat and starting to struggle through the German.

Then all of the words sort of stuck in his throat. He recognized that machete.

He stopped abruptly halfway through the second paragraph. His younger self, clearly frustrated with his lack of answers, took the opportunity to press the machete into his arm. "Tell me why you're here!"

He watched as the knife sliced through his skin. He didn't feel anything.

Monroe, not remotely realizing this, surged forward, with his eyes slightly red, and knocked the younger Nick out with some combination of his arm and the side of the crossbow.

Nick looked down again, his arm appeared to be covered in blood. He ran his hand over it, expecting the warm sticky ooze to cover his fingers. But it didn't.

None of it was real.

He exhaled sharply before placing the knife in his pocket.

Somehow, he'd really done this, done more than he'd hoped he could. Monroe wasn't dead.

He picked the book back up and started reading again. He wished he could stop and tell the Monroe in the here and now, but he couldn't interrupt the flow of the passage.

He'd have to tell him when they were in the future.

As he neared the passage's end, Monroe linked their arms before firing an arrow into the trailer's ceiling.


End file.
